


though a sword should take away my breath

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [146]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That "Game" thing never caught on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	though a sword should take away my breath

**Author's Note:**

> Title: though a sword should take away my breath  
> Fandom: Highlander  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Ovid  
> Warnings: AU; darkish  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 270  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Highlander, Methos (+Any), That "Game" thing never caught on.

In the end, there will be only one.

0o0

Today, his name is Ben Adamson. He's a college student, majoring in mechanical engineering, and he is twenty-one.

Yesterday, he was Matt Bennison and a janitor at a middle school in Santé Fe.

Tomorrow, he'll be Adam Pierce and a serial killer who is never caught. He'll kill twenty-nine people in twenty-nine states, all men in their prime, with no connections between them.

But today, he is simply the top of his class and raising his hand to answer.

0o0

A thousand and a half years ago, the Watchers were massacred and all their records lost. Two thousand years ago, three men were killed, their bodies burnt, and their ashes scattered to the wind. Three thousand years ago, Methos gave Kronos a choice and Kronos chose to follow him. Four thousand years ago, a woman asked if there was any reason for the existence of the ones who could not die. A man shrugged and replied that he knew of none.

Five thousand years ago, a man walked out of the desert.

Six thousand years ago, seven, eight, ten, a hundred – of course, there is no man from so long ago alive.

That would be impossible.

0o0

In the end, there will be only one.

But only the one knows that. The rest do not know of the death that stalks them, the pale rider older than time, and just as merciless.

Today, he is a boy, all of twenty-one and excited to learn.

Yesterday he was a warrior. Tomorrow he will be a killer.

There isn't a soul alive who knows his true name.


End file.
